I Doubt Sometimes Whether A Quiet And

In England The Only Homage Which They Pay To Virtue - Is Hypocrisy.

I Stood Among Them, But Not Of Them: In A Shroud Of Thoughts Which Were Not Their Thoughts.

The Dew Of Compassion Is A Tear.

The Waves Were Dead; The Tides Were In Their Grave, The Moon, Their Mistress, Had Expir'd Before; The Winds Were Wither'd In The Stagnant Air, And The Clouds Perish'd; Darkness Had No Need Of Aid From Them-she Was The Universe.

My Native Land, Good Night!